Old Habits Die Hard
by Mrs Weasley's Protegee
Summary: Some Mike and Fee action. I have no idea really where this is going...for now just enjoy the smutt! lol. Rating for future additions.


Old Habits Die Hard

_None of the Burn Notice characters are mine. Only this Mike/Fee smuttness ahahaha. Alright, i'm addicted to this show. We'll see how it goes. Please enjoy, and comment! More to come, probably!!_

Michael limp-skipped to his pathetic mattress of his pathetic warehouse that served as a home and collapsed as gently as he could on it. Pulling his foot onto the bed after him, he tried to assess what other damage he had managed to sustain on the job.

"Damn…freaking…con artists," he grunted. The good news was that he had only sprained his ankle. A little wrapping would do the trick…he reached behind the small cabinet and removed the gauze.

When you were a spy, you learn to keep this type of stuff close to hand.

"Wow…somebody worked you over good."

Mike glanced up and groaned. Fee.

"It's not my fault you have a hard head, Michael." She sat down next to him, and frowned.

"What?"

She touched the side of his face and he inhaled sharply, wincing. "Michael…"

"I'm fine, Fee, okay? I just need some rest."

"How bad did they hurt you?" Her gaze dropped to his chest, and her face darkened further. His eyes followed hers. There was a large purplish-black bruise on his collarbone, contrasting sharply with his bloodstained white shirt. She reached to remove it.

His hands clasped over hers. "Fiona," he said sternly, "I'm fine. Now please, it's been-"

"Will you shut up, for once! You didn't let me come with you, again, now the least you can do is shut up, and let me help you get cleaned up! Jesus, Michael. Now let go of me."

With a little concentration, he managed to make his muscles obey him. Fee unbuttoned his shirt and gently pushed it off him. "Oh yeah," he explained, "The crow bar."

"You let someone hit you with a crow bar?" she asked, incredulous.

"Oh sure, Fee, yeah, I let them. Arms wide open, and everything."

"Do you have to be so damn stubborn all the time?"

"Do you have to be so overbearing all the time?"

Spies are trained to deal with nearly every situation. Whether it be a tactical squad dispatched just to kill you, disarming a complex alarm system, or assassinating a cartel soldier, there is an almost pedantic art to doing it.

But nothing had ever prepared him for her.

Sure, he knew the mechanics of romance. The flirting, and the dating, and the kissing, and maybe eventually the sex. But tradition had never been really Fee's style. Sure, back in Ireland, they had done all those things, though the flirting was usually over a good gun cleaning, and the dating and kissing usually took place on stakeouts. And sometimes the sex too. But never in that order.

With Fee, he just…didn't _know_. She threw him off balance. He couldn't get a read on her, he never knew what to expect.

He was trained to _hate_ that.

He was _not_ trained to avoid loving it.

"Fee-"

Her finger over his lips silenced him.

And then she was too close.

Far, far too close.

Her scent…sunny and perfumed, assailed him, her hair fell onto his shoulder, her hands placed gingerly on the un-bruised section of his chest.

He turned his head away, fighting it. Fighting her, fighting every pent-up, suppressed emotion he'd had for her since the moment she had blasted back into his life. He had been so sure he was over her.

Michael Westin had been wrong.

"Stop," she breathed, and instead of on his lips, she placed hers on his neck.

"Fee," he groaned. "We can't."

"I'll be gentle…" She kissed just above his bruise, and then pushed down on his shoulders. It never was clear whether he was physically or emotionally too weak to resist her force- either way, a moment later, she straddled his waist, and her hand found his belt buckle.

His hands found traction on the bed, and tried to push himself up, but again, she surprised him. It wasn't so much that she kissed him, considering what she planned to do.

It was his reaction.

Before he could think, before he could listen to himself mentally berating him to stop, to think, not to do this, his hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, his tongue tasting hers.

Even on a job, their sex life had been explosive. Fee was demanding, incessant, and loud. Michael had always been quieter, but certainly not reserved. He rarely let his guard down. But when he did…he let it way down….


End file.
